


Close Your Eyes

by Elsewhere



Category: Nathan Barley - Fandom, The Mighty Boosh
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsewhere/pseuds/Elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested in another Boosh porn jamboree, you dirty beggars. "Vince getting a spanking from Dan Ashcroft. Then giving him a blowjob."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Morrissey song.

  
_close your eyes_  
and think of someone you physically admire  
and let me kiss you  
-Morrissey

 

The air was hot with the stench of cock and cunt. Probably blood and piss as well, fuck knows what sort of things these people let out their bodies and into and onto each other's in the name of getting off. Dan didn't like the idea of breathing in this place. It was too thick and sour, like a heavy haze of sex where there really ought to be oxygen, sliced through with broken shards of sounds - the bass thumping from the dancefloor downstairs, people's stiletto heels clicking on the floor, the tinkle of glasses and bottles, talking and laughing and moaning and something that sounded far too much like a large, flat object striking flesh for Dan's liking.

Three thoughts hit all at once: he wasn't _nearly_ drunk enough, he loathed Jonatton with all the fiery strength of ten thousand blazing suns, and these people were IDIOTS. A different type of idiot, yeah, but idiots all the same. Fucking fakers. Women with silicone tits making can't-get-enough noises around a dozen different shapes and sizes of cock. In Dan's experience, women only _really_ moaned like that around a large spoonful of Häagen-Dazs.

He went to the bar, ordered a pair of doubles, and tried to prepare himself for a long, disturbing evening.

...

"You've never been here before, have you?"

Dan didn't respond for quite some time. He was working his vodka-soaked brain like a seaside arcade game. Match the pieces: get a prize. A man's voice coming out of a glossy mouth set three inches below the bluest eyes and blackest eyelashes he'd ever seen in his life. Fucking brilliant, the world's most unconvincing trannie was chatting him up.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You stick out like anything."

"You're a regular, are you?"

"Nah, it's my first time an' all. I just know how to blend in better. You don't look nearly depraved enough. Still, I reckon you might get lucky, find someone who gets off on that, they've got all types here. Alright, mate, can I have a flirtini? Cheers. Oh, go on, put another umbrella in, yeah? I'm feeling well decadent tonight, haha."

He seemed nervous, though. Kind of uncomfortable. That might have been the height of his platform boots, or maybe the way his little nipples stuck out a different two holes in his torn mesh shirt every time he took a breath. He looked a right twat. Kind of like Jones, but skinnier and much more like a girl. A sort of ugly, pre-pubescent girl. No curves, just sharp angles. He was like a collection of set squares in a skin suit.

He did have really blue eyes, though. And really long eyelashes.

He had a set of handcuffs dangling off one of his belt loops.

Dan raked his hands through his hair and wished he were dead. "I'd prefer _not_ to get lucky, thanks."

"What're you doing here, then?"

"I'm a whore for journalism. I swallow what they wank off because I need the money. Metaphorically _only_, you understand."

"Oh. I'm just lookin' for a wicked time, me." Then he smiled, and it outshone those ten thousand blazing suns. Ugly pre-pubescent girl? There was still that. But he smiled like Jones, which...

Dan knocked back his last double and ordered again. He still didn't feel drunk enough for this place, the company, these thoughts. That needed changing.

...

They were drunker now, but not too drunk. More comfortable, but not too comfortable. _Christ_, he looked like Jones. Dan polished off another vodka. This bloke seemed harmless enough. Hyper and enthusiastic, but clutching his glass _just_ tightly enough to indicate that he was maybe kind of a little bit scared out of his wits by the place. And he talked a lot. Maybe it'd be enough to base an article off. Dan _hoped_ it'd be enough.

"But, I dunno, I don't think it's the pain," he was saying. "It's, like... power-play, innit? It's not the whips an' stuff getting you off, it's everything else."

There was a loud noise like a gunshot. Moments later, blinking his way stupidly out of a daze of roaring heat and razor-sharp pain, Dan realised the girly stranger with raw-looking nipples had bitchslapped him.

"You fucking little cunt, what d'you think you're doing?"

"See, you didn't like that, did you?"

Dan had the odd notion he might slice his hand on the man's cheekbones if he tried hitting him back. He almost went for the good old two-fisted hairpull - he'd seen Claire all lairy and off her head on lager when she was younger, he knew how to fight like a girl just as well as this dick apparently did - but before he managed to get it together enough to make a move the man rocked forward on his platforms, went up on tiptoe with his hands on Dan's shoulders, and murmured close to his ear, "Now, now. You'll calm down an' behave yourself, little man, else I'll put you over my knee and give you such a spanking you'll be feeling my hand on your arse all week."

Shocked, disgusted, forcing his cock back into its coma by sheer willpower, all Dan could manage by way of response was a strangled sort of laugh.

"That worked, though, dinnit?"

He looked inordinately pleased with himself, smirking around the two spaghetti-thin straws in whatever vile fruity cocktail he was working on now and cocking an eyebrow as if he was inviting retribution, verbal or otherwise, that Dan was quite sure he was in no fit state to provide. He couldn't seem to find words. He _definitely_ didn't think he could move.

He forced another trembling bewildered little laugh. "That's the way you like to play, is it?"

"No."

He sucked the straws. It made two hollows appear in his cheeks, inviting disturbing, compelling thoughts about what he'd look like sucking on something more substantial.

"No?"

"No. That's the way I want to be played _with_. Why d'you think I'm here, you muppet? It's not cos I'm writing a magazine article, I can tell you that. I can't even spell magazine. _Or_ article."

Silence.

Somebody quite nearby moaned.

Dan pulled a face.

"What's your name?"

"What d'you want it to be?" The man paused. "That's the way things work in places like this, innit?"

"I don't know. Never been here before, remember?"

"Me neither." Another pause. He bit his lower lip gently, teeth scraping lines like miniature tyre tracks through the layer of pink gloss. "Can I call you Howard?"

"...Why?"

"I mean, I won't if you think it's weird."

"No, um, okay. If you want."

"Genius." He smiled again. Dan briefly wondered what he'd have to do to make Jones smile like that, then told himself to _stop_. "So... are we doing it, then."

"Er."

_No. I'm observing just enough to write my piece so I can get the fuck out of this hellhole._ That had been his intention, anyway.

_No. I'm straight._ More or less true.

_No. There's this massive berk I live with and I bet he wouldn't care if I got off with someone but I think I would, oh shit does that mean I'm in love? Oh fucking hell no way._

"Yes," he said quickly.

"You have to do it properly, though."

"Um. How do you mean?"

"You have to call me 'little man'."

"Oh. Er. Riiight."

"And don't let me touch you. Even if I want to. Even if I really try to, don't let me."

"How's that fair?"

"No, that's part of the game, innit? Don't let me, an' I keep on trying, and then you take me to task for playing up, yeah? Put a move on me. An' _then_ I'm allowed to touch you."

"You've not thought about this much, have you?"

"Nah, not really. Only like twelve hours a day the last coupla years, it's nothing."

"Right." Dan studied the other man for a while, trying to sort through his thoughts, but they were an impossible tangle and the alcohol was making it worse and really he had no chance so he stopped sorting, stopped thinking. This wasn't the kind of place conducive to efficient thinking, after all, unless you were thinking about all the different ways there were to get off in public.

"What's in it for me, then? You get off on me-" He trailed off, not quite able to bring himself to say the words 'spanking you' because even just _thinking_ them made him feel slightly sick in the stomach and incredibly warm about the face. "So then what?"

"Then I give you the greatest blowjob of your life." He said it simply, not putting on a stupid porny voice and trying to make it sound sexy, just saying it like it was the most natural thing in the world to suck off strangers in sex clubs. "You'll feel me here," he added, apparently thinking Dan needed more persuasion, and slid the fingertips of his right hand from his chin slowly down the front of his pale neck to rest at the indentation where his collarbones met. "I'm that good. I think. I mean, no one's ever said so, but I'm pretty sure I am. How's that?"

As deals go, the promise of a blowjob is always good. Very few things in the world are worth turning down a blowjob for. Like dignity, and sanity. Piddly little things, who needs them? He'd already wanked off a stranger in a pub toilet for pay, it wasn't like he could get any lower. At least _this_ stranger had bothered with a bit of make-up. Dan gave a short nod, and turned without another word to find somewhere they could go. The walls were lined with sort of booths, little rectangular spaces managing to be contained and open at the same time. Dark corners to hide away in, but the entrances gaped like mouths; if you didn't position yourself properly, everything you did was on show to anybody who walked past. Of course, that was kind of the idea. Dan accidentally saw a set of thrusting, sagging buttocks and nearly balked, but hesitant fingers gripping the sleeve of his jacket refocused him. Blowjob. Focus.

"No, you're doing it _wrong_!"

"What?"

"You're not meant to let me touch you, remember?"

"Oh. Oh, right, sorry. Um. Get off?"

"Say 'don't touch me'."

"Don't touch me."

The man snatched his hand away, looking contrite.

Dan felt he was missing the point of this a bit, but it didn't seem like the right time to ask for clarification.

"In here," he said. Those fingers crept onto his arm again, the man steadying himself as he went down the single step into the dark little alcove, and Dan gave him a push so he stumbled and almost fell, hopping awkwardly on one foot and having to put his hands against the wall to stay upright. "I said don't touch me. Little man," he added, remembering, and the guy's face flamed.

_So now what?_

"Um," Dan said again.

"Oh, fucking hell, come on! Do I have to walk you through it? You're meant to be bossing _me_ around, aren't you?"

"Am I?"

"Yes! Just... get into the character, alright?"

"Jesus. _What_ character? I don't know what you want from me, this is impossible."

"Alright, then fuck off!" He took two steps forward and shoved Dan's shoulders, scowling and petulant. "I could have _any_ bloke in here, you know, an' you're pissing about wasting my time."

_Now_ this _is weird_, Dan thought, as he felt something begin to slot into place. Non-tangible, but very real all the same, this sudden understanding as he met the stranger's glaring eyes, this urge to...

His hands flashed out quick as vipers and grabbed the other man by the wrists when he raised his arms to shove Dan back again, tightening his grip around the bones until the man's breath caught in his throat in a cracked little whimper and he stared at him, wide-eyed and chest heaving and, suddenly, weirdly, beautiful. Maybe it was the dim light in the booth softening his straight lines and angles, maybe it's that Dan was actually getting off on this domination lark, he didn't know or care, he just went with it and said:

"No."

He kept his voice soft. He didn't need to be loud; the other man was silent and still, frozen into place by that one tiny quiet syllable alone. Dan's skin prickled, power and unexpected arousal swimming through his veins and heating him from the inside out. He squeezed the man's wrists even more tightly and watched his lips part around another breathless little sound, eyelids flickering in a stuttery blink.

"How many times have I told you not to touch me?"

"_Oh_," he said again. "I'm sorry."

"See, but I don't think you are. If you were sorry you'd stop. What've I got to do to make you say sorry and _mean_ it, hmm?"

He flung the wrists away from him and glanced around the booth, trying to figure out the best way of going about losing his spanking-virginity.

This still felt weird, really _really_ bizarre, but you don't argue with your own stiffy when it's this insistent.

He sat. The bench ran around the whole of the inside of the booth, right up to both sides of the gap, very wide and very soft. It was some indeterminate colour. Dan couldn't quite tell in the dim light, and was rather glad. He thought it was probably unwise to get a good look at _anything_ in this place in case you spontaneously combusted with hypochondria at the stains.

The man was little more than a skinny silhouette, backlit by the shine from the bar area coming through the gap in their booth. He was throwing off heat like a furnace, breathing in rapid, ragged gasps, eyes fixed on Dan.

He felt stupid, and wondered what the other bloke was getting out of it. A dirty little sex-game when you knew what you were getting? It seemed wrong, somehow. Sex was a fumbling, unplanned moment of glorious madness. He'd never gone in for all that planning-ahead shit. Buying candles specially, throwing rose petals around. What bollocks, that kind of thing made him want to vomit. Still, he supposed this wasn't _that_ different to being told you were on your way to getting some fucking good head. That spurred him on.

"You'll touch me when I tell you to," he said, "_never_ before. Now come here." He wondered what this Howard would do. He had to be seriously in-control, if this kid was getting off so much on the idea of being _this_ dominated by him. His boss, maybe, or a lecturer. Hopefully not something disgusting like his dad, that would be taking it to a whole new level of weird. Maybe he just wouldn't ask.

"You're kidding me, Howard."

Howard. Christ, this bloke had serious issues. He was really dropping into the role. Then again, Dan realised against his will, so was he.

"Do I look like I'm kidding? I won't ask you again, little man."

The words felt odd in his mouth, like they didn't belong there - which, he supposed, they didn't, really. He wondered how Howard would say them, what kind of accent he had, whether he'd inflect differently or phrase things differently. He wondered what he was like, whether he was doing an okay job at playing him, then stopped wondering at once when he saw the hard outline of the other man's cock in his tight jeans. Clearly he was doing _something_ right. Probably best not to think about it. A blowjob was at stake.

His head was swimming with alcohol. Everything seemed slightly unreal, warped and blurry like your view of the world through somebody else's glasses, until the man was bent over his lap, top half sprawled awkwardly on the wide bench, and Dan's right hand was red hot from a dozen stinging impacts. He was talking all the time, although he was letting his mouth run off on its own and wasn't sure what it was saying - something about teaching the little man a lesson, something about how he'd remember to do as he was told if it hurt him to sit down for a few days. Something sufficiently Howard-esque, he hoped, and decided Howard was a bastard. Although Howard wasn't the one actually _doing_ it, he was. Shit. Also, there was a cock being thrust against his thigh, ramming hard against him as the bloke squirmed and writhed. Shit again.

"How dare you? Stay _still_," he said, delivering an extra-hard smack, then rather wished he hadn't when the man made a funny choking noise and came.

Silence, mostly. Just four lungs and two heartbeats making something more of a racket than usual.

The other man sat up, shakily, readjusting himself in his jeans with an apparent lack of shame, although when he finally looked at Dan his eyes were wet. He tried on a lopsided sort of smile and reached out to touch Dan's face; his hand faltered in mid-air until he got the go-ahead nod and then he was smiling _properly_, throwing a leg over both of Dan's so he was straddling him, snarling his fingers in the mess of hair and kissing him like the survival of the world depended on his being able to thoroughly describe the taste of Dan Ashcroft's tonsils.

Kissing. Not part of the deal. Nice nevertheless, although he'd better not think it was an adequate blowjob substitute or he'd be getting a walloping he _didn't_ like, Dan decided fiercely, even as he was kissing back, losing his own fingers in the stranger's long hair, gently tonguing the crooked set of his teeth and drinking back the ghosts of alcopops and Hubba Bubba gum.

"That was alright, was it?" he said against the man's cheek. He loathed himself for the shaky, frightened quality of his voice. "I mean, I feel like a massive twat, it's like, um..." It was like playing a game when you don't know any of the rules and your dice keeps changing the number of sides it's got, but he wasn't sure how to word it in a way that made him sound like less of a twat than he felt.

"Shut up." He took Dan's earlobe between his teeth for a second and bit down gently. "You made me come, didn't you?"

Nimble fingers on his belt, his button, his zip, then the man was slithering off him and down between his legs, tugging his jeans and shorts to his ankles and getting to work.

True to his word, he was _very_ good. Enthusiasm was what did it, rocketing his mouth up and down Dan's cock, warm and so wet there was saliva soaking his balls. He was making those girly ice-cream noises like nothing in the world had ever given him this much pleasure, like he was seconds away from coming again just from the taste coating the back of his throat, sucking and licking and swallowing around him and choking a bit and then laughing, which felt amazingly weird and weirdly amazing. He kept glancing up to make sure Dan was watching, pulling off just enough to smile at him and then diving back on, all hollowed cheeks and gentle, delighted noises.

"OhfuckJones," Dan said, and wrenched the man away from him by his glossy hair.

Silence again. That special sex-silence that wasn't silence at all, the hard breathing and the shift of clothing and thundering heartbeats.

"Wow," the man said. He was still on his knees between Dan's legs, going cross-eyed trying to look at his own face. "I bet I look like Adam Ant did a porno." He ran his fingertip under his eye, across his crooked nose, under the other eye, and licked the mess off. "Mm. Nice aim, by the way. You sure you've never done this before?"

Dan didn't answer. He remembered the fucking fuss Jones had made the one time they'd got wasted and sucked each other off and he'd ended up with, as he called it, "SPERMS! Sperms in my HAIR, you tosspot, that is WELL RANCID!" After washing it out he'd not looked up from his decks for three days, apparently not even to eat or sleep, then he seemed to get over it but not quite enough to meet Dan's eyes any more.

"Who's Howard?" he asked instead.

"My best mate. I live with him, but not like that. Who's Jones?"

"Same."

"Oh, right."

Through the gap in the booth wall they saw a woman walk past slowly in impossibly high shoes, like a gothic ballerina. She had a leather collar around her neck, and a silver studded lead going from that to the hand of a very short, very fat man. He nodded his head at the booth next door and they went in.

"Fucking hell," Dan muttered. "I'm not staying to listen to _that_."

"Can I come home with you?" He blurted it out like he wasn't sure it was the right thing to say, then began nibbling his friction-swollen bottom lip again and sat back on the cushions against the corner of the booth, just waiting and watching Dan with his blue eyes wide and hopeful.

He wondered what Jones would say, and decided he didn't give a fuck.

"What's your name?"

"Vince."

"I'm Dan. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Jones is still mucking about with a new sound when Dan gets home. He recorded it under the railway bridge when the train was braking for something, he don't know what it was braking for, but he recorded the noise on like an impulse, cos he got this feeling it might be a blinder. It was, too. Six and a half seconds of screeching steel, and when it's all layered over itself like a stack of pancakes all different sizes it's mental. Banging bass under all that and, what, seventeen other samples? Eighteen if you count the screech played backwards. He's been up for days working this shit out, and then Dan fucking walks in with some bloke who's got come in his hair and he stumbles and loses it. Sounds good, though, that bit of quiet. He tries it again and makes it a _thing_ so's it don't sound like an accident no more and he's laughing like a fucking nutcase now cos that's what it was missing, it wanted that stutter cos in the middle of all the screaming and pounding when you've got a bit of nothing the nothing sounds even louder than the noise.

Dan's not really looking at him, and that's fucking fine by him. Cowardly cunt. Like he even _cares_ who Dan brings home. Not like there's been a lot of 'em, though. There was that girl with the big tits and so much nicotine on her fingers it looked like she was wearing fucking Marigolds. He's pretty sure she was a hooker, that one, but Dan claimed she was a blind date the idiots at work sent him off on and Jones went yeah, you'd _have_ to be fucking blind, then Dan gave him the double shot, two middle fingers, and disappeared into the bedroom with her. That girl with the really red lipstick, too, the one who reckoned she was a DJ til she had a flipout at 2am and went storming off cos she couldn't take the noise. She had big tits too. They all had big tits. Who the fuck's _this_ bender?

He's wandering round the place looking at stuff and kinda _lurking_ round the decks trying to say hello but he can just piss off, he's fucking up the flow - cos when you're brought up by a deaf mum it don't matter how loud you play your music, does it? You just get good at reading lips, and everybody else can fucking well pick it up. Dan's got it, he's alright, but the knob with the ripped shirt's stopped saying hello and he's got that look on his face most other people do like they're thinking _just fucking turn it off, will you?_ and that's fucking annoying, that's like walking in your girlfriend's parents' house and going "Ugh, fucking hell, I don't like your wallpaper much" or something. Jones sees Dan waving a beer bottle at the stranger from over the other side of the room and the bloke goes "Ain't you got nothing else?" like he's expecting, what, champagne? No, fucking alcopops, probably, some colour you don't find in nature. Blue WKD. Wankered, Dan always calls it, cos only wankers drink it and then they end up in gutters with sick on their hands and chlamydia in their knickers.

He piles on the bass. He wants it so loud you don't even hear it no more, you just _feel_ it in your guts like it's rolling round in there and you're gonna throw it up. It'd be good if this bloke threw up. Fucking ponce, arsing round in them high heels, he'd probably have a right wobbly if he threw up on himself, that'd be well funny - then again, he _has_ got come in his hair, so who knows? _Choose your side, Dan_, he kinda wants to yell, _get off in a bloke's hair if you want it but did you have to pick one who looks like a bird?_

The window's rattling now and all. He's gonna have to get that recorded too, that rattle like a trapped fly where the window don't fit properly, fade that in just after the nanoseconds of silence, that'll be wicked.

The stranger's sipping his beer politely. Why don't he stick his little finger out? _Do a_ proper _job of it_, Jones thinks, irrationally irritated. _If you're gonna go all prim now, even when your gob's all red and swollen from sucking him off, just fucking GO for it, why don't you?_ only then he stops drinking and puts his bottle down cos Dan's making this ugly crude hand gesture like it's fucking X-Rated Christmas Charades and he's been told to mime a blowjob, and he's raising his eyebrows like a question and cocking his head at the bedroom. The bloke who looks like a bird follows after him like a happy little puppy. It's sickening. Fucking little twat, skipping about like it don't even _matter_ he's got it all smeared through his hair. Jones remembers what it was like (and he tries not to but he does, he can't help it, he keeps remembering at weird moments, it sneaks up on him like a fucking mental ninja) and it was horrible, all sticky and warm and foul. It's just, he didn't _have_ to go and drag him off like that and get it all through his hair and in his ear

"...cos I would've fucking swallowed it, you cunt," he mutters, inaudible beneath the bass, and he hopes the girly-boy fucking well chokes on it.


End file.
